Through Arbian Eyes
by Charlies Angles
Summary: An arabian girl strives to find freedom as she suffers through life with a bethrothed man she does not love. The only way out is with her fathers'or future husband's consent. Running away or forging their signature would risk the penalty, death.
1. Chapter 1

Through Arabian eyes

Chapter 1

Starring out the window, I can see the statue of liberty. I had seen it so many times in old photos and torn magizines that I had hid in a little clay jar, but I never thought I would be this close, this close to freedom.

I sighed an antcy sigh as I thought about my home and how far away it was. I would deeply miss my friends and teachers that had been with me since childhood. They were the people that made me the person I am today. All of it would be part of the past, all would be buried in the dirt until it needed to be dug up once again.

I pressed the last letter I recieved from my brother to my chest. It would probably be the last time I would see those swiggly lines of love and goodbyes. He promised me we would meet again. If not in this life time, then in the next. No matter what it cost him, his own life even, he would find me.

I smiled at the thougt of his memory. I owed him so much, but how to repay him would be something I would spend my life doing. If it hadn't been for him, I would still be in Saudi Arabia right now preparing myself to get married to a man I did not love. He was an old friend of my parents. He had taken care of all their trade and expenses for twelve years. My father assured me that he was a very good man, honest, just and trust worthy.

He was twenty years older than me, but that wasn't uncommon. I was supposed to have gotten married at fifteen, but because their was so many suitors that wanted me, all of them acceptable with large sums of money, father made up his mind that who ever stood the test of time would be my husband. Time did past, four years infact and Kharashi was the only one that remained.

I was frightened. Never had I taken off my burqa infront of any man except my father. What if he was displeased with what he saw? What if he became bored of me and decided to get a new wife? I was so nervous that I lost alot of sleep and got myself sick. My (mother) was angry at me because I didn't go to school for a week, which meant paying my teacher for my education, eventhough I wasn't there to reciece it. My father was so angry with me that he wipped me until I was so sore that I couldn't sit without wincing. He hadn't like spending money being greedy as he was, so I had really "picked" at his pocket.

Kharashi came every day to our house on the hills. It was a tough climb, but as he put it, 'I don't notice the climb when I think of your daughter Khaled' and then he would wink at me and expect me to say something eventhough I never got the chance to because my father would eye me and shake his head. Kharashi would arrive all sweaty from a days work. He would then request my presence and expect me to serve food and pour drink. He's stench would penetrate my nose and make my eyes water, but he couldn't see them, thank God or else he would have slapped me for showing disrespect. This was one time I was glad I had a burqa on. It could disguise so much, hurt, pain, anger, happiness and satifaction. Kharashi would say nothing to me, but rather ate in silence. All women, were not worthy enough to be spoken to especially by men.

I watched him eat. I wasn't supposed to because even that can be taken as a bad sign, so I would hurridly look away and pour him more drink when it emptied. He wasn't an ugly man, infact, he was quite handsome for a tradesman. He had bright brown eyes that shined every single time he would laugh or look at me. He had curly black hair that rested on his soldiers, broad back, delicate lips and a striaght nose. He wore a plain white outfit that was similar to a dress with a gold collar that naped at the neck. His hands were smooth from effortless labor and his feet were dirty from the streets. He walked back and forth doing errands, but he was quick and often got dirty only when people kicked up the dirt. After he was finished with his meal, he would nod at me to get the basin of water to wash his feet. Usually the custom was the guest feet would be washed before the meal, but that's not the way he wanted it. Maybe he wanted to make me suffer with his stench, but whatever the reason was, he wouldn't tell, not even to my father.

I took out a clean white towel and began to rub his feet with it. The dirt swirled in tiny pools inside the water. I watched them for a moment, thinking that I resembled this dirt. I made people shrink away every single time I got them dirty. I was a problem that must be washed away. I sighed and continued to wash his feet. I could feel him staring at me, but I wouldn't dare look. He had this special ability to read right through me and this one time, I wouldn't let him. I rubbed a bar of soap on his swollen feet and watched it bubble in the river. This would be the soaps tomb. I let it sink to the bottom. It gleamed in it's whiteness and I was tempted to retrive it, but instead thought otherwise. I arose slowly and bowed low. His hand reached out and trembled. He wanted to touch me! He stared at his hand as if it wasn't his own. He wimpered and let go. His hand went back to his side and remained there. He let out a breath of relief, he had survived temptation. I was only too happy to bow again and walk out.

Back in my room, I laid on the floor, which was my bed, and faced the ceiling. Why had this man wanted me? He waited for such a long time and still, still he pursued me. He would smile at me behind my fathers back and would say kind words to me even when he wasn't supposed to and would bring me small gifts. By law of men, he shouldn't look at me, speak to me, acknowdelge me and yet, he did. I didn't understand. I knew it was a secret between him and me because he would always put his finger to his lips and make a shhhhhhh sound. What were his reasons? Maybe he was trying to be nice to my father, a favor or something. After all, father did say I 'picked' at his pocket way often than I should. Maybe it was the dowry he would receive once he married me. None of it made since to me. I would bring the question to ummî (mother). She was more experienced with men and understood a great deal. Yes, I would ask her. She would know.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I didn't get to ask my ummî until the end of three days. She was always kept busy in preparation for my brothers future wife, asking women over for dinner. Most of the time, brother wasn't interested in them. It was only one time that a girl denied him right to be her husband. She said she had no desire to be married and that she had feared to say no to ummî. At first, brother was angry, and then he laughed it off. He reassured her by saying that mother was pretty scary and that she was a smart girl not to say no because she would have regretted it. I knew what he meant by this. Ummî would have yelled at the top of her lungs saying, 'What? Do you think your too good for my son? Do you not know who he is? I would say that you would be lucky if you could have him or anyone for that matter...' Then mother would scoff and would tell everyone washing at the river that there's this girl who thinks she's better than her son. Than she would point her out and all the woman would shake their heads and wouldn't let their sons near her. Of course that's what ummî would want, to squander every prospect of her getting married. Then mother would justify it by saying, 'If my son can't have her, no one can.' That's just how evil ummî was. She didn't want anyone to be happy if she couldn't be. When ummî came back from using the bathroom, brother, to save the girl from embarrasment, told ummî that he wasn't interested in the girl. The girl tried to look sad, but you could see the greatfulness in her eyes. She was quickly dismissed without a word.

After three days, ummî was exhausted. She was angry she had failed to find her son a wife by then because she had had a bet with old woman Zoni that her son would have found someone by now. She sat at the kitchen table fanning herself and grumbing, "Ah yes, that madame Zoni is going to laugh and tell the other women that she won and then she's going to ask for my flower pot knowing how much I like it... she's probably already at the river telling everyone. That madame Zoni, why can't she just keep her mouth shut? She should learn some virtures... yes, I would be the perfect teacher for her..."

"Ummî." I bowed low to the floor. "May I ask you something." I kept my head lowered and waited.

"What? What, who's there? Oh, it's you Hannah. What do you want? I am in no mood to be disturbed."

I chose my words carefully as not to sound presumptious. "Ummî, I know I am but a foolish girl, but I must ask a question. It has been on my heart as I feel unworthy to be loved by such a man. Why does Kharashi desire me as his wife?"

Mother arose from her chair and pulled at my ear. "You foolish head strong girl. _Desire_ you? How dare you say such a thing!" She looked at me for but a moment and said, "Next time chose your words properly, but for you to understand, I shall use that foul word. Kharashi _desires _you for your eyes. Your eyes are startling Hannah. Eventhough he cannot see your body or face, your eyes can catch any man's attention." She saw my twisted expression and said, "Don't become vain. No man wants a vain wife not even Kharashi, now go away before I become more displeased with you." She turned away from me and began mumbling once again. "That Zoni, I shall teach her a lesson..."


End file.
